Chapter Twenty-Six #2
History is a disease. It masquerades as truth, but no one can replicate a moment in words alone. In Egypt we didn’t try. History and stories were synonymous—like our art, they were reflections of sentiment rather than lauded as fact.
But Octavian had created me in the way of Romans. Their histories were a tool to teach and deter. The Roman obsession with oratory meant that few tales escaped the manipulation of the speaker. Never trust the story, only the storyteller.
And so a new version of Cleopatra was born—the me of myth and lore.
I speak now not to you, but to her.
You have been dragged through ink and song. Your ears bleed from the echo of your name that thunders across time. Your eyes are hollow, for they have been imagined and reimagined until they can no longer see.
Rest now. Let yourself disappear from the consciousness of others. I give you your freedom in these two words: I exist. I exist. I exist.
Like the quiet hiss of a snake. I exist.
I left without killing the hakawati. The act would do nothing but prove his narrative. And I had other blood to shed that night.
I crossed the bridge that led to the palace complex, which lay on an island in the centre of the river. The stone structure was lit by torches, and it cut an impressive sight against the night sky.
“Announce yourself!” a guard called out in Latin.
“My name is Selene,” I said, stepping into the firelight. The guards raised their spears at my approach.
“What do you want?”
“The triumvir, Antonius, sent for me.”
“And who are you to him?”
His wife.
“A healer—he will know of me.”
The guards spoke between themselves in Arabic, assuming I could not speak the common tongue of Syria.
“He said not to be disturbed,” one said.
“But if he sent for her…”
“It is late at night to have called on a healer.”
“Perhaps she is not a healer, but a prostitute.”
The insult glanced off me, as it followed on the heels of the hakawati’s attack.
“Might I suggest you check with him?” I said dryly in Arabic. The guards jumped at the fluidity of my tongue, but smoothed over their embarrassment quickly and sent a messenger to Antonius.
As I predicted, I was welcomed into the palace shortly afterwards. I was led into an antechamber at the back of the building where a fire burned low in a copper basin. I stood by it, wrapping my arms around myself to bring comfort to my beating heart.
“Is it you?” I heard.
I closed my eyes to brace myself for the sight.
“Open your eyes and tell me you are not an apparition,” he said desperately. Rough hands moved to my cheeks and I opened my eyes.
The years had not changed him. I had hoped to see a difference so I could separate the man I had loved from who he was now. But save for a few streaks of silver in his hair, he was one and the same.
“Marcus,” I breathed.
“You are truly here.” His hands slipped to my waist and drew me towards him.
I tried to resist him, but in the time it took for me to sigh out a breath, I found myself leaning into his arms. My body’s longing for his touch overcame my sense of reason. He began to kiss me, first my eyes, then my mouth. His lips trailed down my body, savouring every bit of skin that he could.
“Marcus.” I hoped that saying his name would ground me. “Marcus, stop.”
He straightened, not because he heard me but because a thought had occurred to him. “The children, did you bring them?”
I nodded wordlessly.
He grabbed my hand as if to lead me to the harbour. “Let us go and see them.”
“They’re asleep.” It was only then that he seemed to notice my grave demeanour.
“What is wrong?”
“This is the last time I will come to you.”
He cocked his head. “You know I could not come to Egypt, my armies were here—”
“Nor will you be welcome in Egypt. Not as an ally, nor my lover.”
He took a step back. “And as a husband?”
I looked into his eyes, willing myself to speak through the pain. “Is it even a marriage if no one knows we were wed?”
“The gods know it,” he said hoarsely.
“It will be easy for you,” I told him. “Your marriage to Octavia will never be questioned. You don’t even need to meet the children; let them not know you rather than be parted from you.”
With every word Antonius took a small step back, as if each one pierced him with an arrow. “Why are you saying this, Cleopatra?”
“Octavia—”
“You were the one who told me to marry her.” His voice shook. “You were the one who sent me away.”
“To stop a war!” I shouted.
“I would have fought him for you!” he shouted back. “I would have done anything for you. Tell me what you want and I will do it.”
When I didn’t reply straight away, he said, “Do you want me to tell the world we are married? For I will do it, I have no shame in it. You were my wife ere Octavia was.”
Before I could answer, he strode from the room.
I followed him as he made his way through the palace, and with every servant and guard we passed, he cried, “I, Marcus Antonius, am married to the Pharaoh Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt.” He repeated himself until we reached the gardens and he bellowed it out into the night.
“Marcus,” I said wearily. “This will not fix the distance between us.”
“What distance?” His eyes were wild, like those of an animal who knows it is soon to be sacrificed. The end was coming, he could sense it. “I want no distance from you.” He stepped towards me, encircling me in his arms.
I didn’t let myself soften in his embrace. “Marcus, it is too painful. It is too painful living without you.”
“I will not live without you. So either strike me down, or let me love you.”
His words tore at my heart. He was saying everything I wanted him to say.
“Selene.” He spoke her name to disarm me. “Tell me, what can I do to prove my love?”
“I should not have to tell you,” I said.
Something seemed to come over him; perhaps he heard the challenge in my voice, for he gathered himself and stood straighter.
“I will proclaim Caesarion’s legitimacy before the senate. He is Caesar’s heir, and Rome should be reminded of it.”
My breath caught in my throat. “You would do this?”
He laughed, a hopeful, yearning sound. “I would do anything for you.”
“You said once that you would never risk war with Octavian in Caesar’s name.”
“I do it not in Caesar’s name, but in yours.”
“Octavian will object,” I said.
“He will, but my victories this past year have put me in good standing with the public. He risks civil war if he goes against me.”
I looked into his earnest face and realised I could not stop loving him. Even if I severed all ties with him, there would be no end to this feeling. For all his flaws, and all of mine, we belonged together.
He read it in my face and began to weep. I kissed the tears from his cheeks.
“I thought I was losing you,” he said.
“I don’t think that is possible,” I whispered. From beneath my robe I removed the small carvings of Isis and Dionysus that I had kept against my chest since he left.
“You see, we were never really parted,” I said.
His faced filled with wonder as he retrieved Dionysus from my outstretched hand and held him to his heart.
“There is no greater gift under this world’s sky than your love.”
Then his lips found mine.
We were lovers once more among the budding rose bushes of the palace gardens. And despite the time apart, I knew his rhythm like my own heartbeat.
—
The next few weeks were some of my happiest. Antonius was the father I always thought he’d be, and the twins adored him. We journeyed back to Egypt together, Antonius bringing two legions of his army as escort.
When we returned to Alexandria, news of our marriage had already reached the city.
The palace was teeming with gifts sent from courtiers near and far.
I had Faunus go through them to log the names of who had sent the presents and to note who had not—it was a good indication of who my allies truly were.
“I want the sword,” Caesarion proclaimed, reaching for a gilded weapon that had arrived that day.
Antonius laughed and picked it up. “I think not—this one is mine.” He feinted towards Caesarion and the boy jumped back, laughing.
“I want to try,” Selene said, running forward.
“You’re too young to fight,” Caesarion declared.
“No, she’s not,” Helios declared. “And neither am I.”
We were in the throne room, a place where now more laughter rang through the halls than petitions.
Courtiers still moved in and out of the palace, along with the royal scribes, but the running of Egypt was a much smoother process than it had been in recent years.
“Look, a harpoon!” Caesarion cried. It had been hidden behind pallets of fruit sent from Crete. “Can we go fishing?” he asked.
Antonius and I shared a smile. “I think a family hunting trip would be a worthy day out,” he said.
The twins’ little feet pattered excitedly. I hadn’t been half as vigilant with their hunting practice as I had with Caesarion’s.
“Let us go,” I said.
The next day we set sail into the heart of the bay, north of the harbour. The twins played with fishing nets, often scaring away the prey Caesarion was trying to capture with his harpoon, much to his frustration.
“I’ve caught something!” Helios cried. After a day of no catches, we were all excited as he began to haul in his net.
He struggled and so I went to join him, Antonius at my side.
“It’s big,” I said. “Maybe a grouper.”
“I bet it’s a bass,” Caesarion said with a touch of jealousy.
“Then we will take pleasure in its sacrifice tonight,” I said.
But what we pulled onto the deck was not a fish at all.
“Isis protect me,” I muttered, my knees falling to the deck.
Glinting in the sunlight was a gold breastplate.
“Theos,” I whispered, running my hand over the intricate engravings. Then I gathered it up, net and all, with strength I shouldn’t have had, and threw it back into the water.
As it sank back beneath the surface, I vomited.
I was pregnant once more.
—
I was halfway through my fourth and final pregnancy when the floods came. The rains brought about much celebration and feasting.
I enjoyed this pregnancy much more than the twins’.
I was not bound to my bed and could still partake in my children’s upbringing.
The twins proved to be harder to keep in line than Maahes and Bastet, who had each gone on to have cubs of their own.
Selene had been caught stealing weapons from the armoury to practise in her bedchamber.
It was only when I investigated the lumps beneath her covers that I discovered two daggers, three gladii and a bow and arrow.
Helios, not to be outdone, attempted to do the same the following night.
But instead of stealing from the armoury, he pilfered from the kitchens.
It took me many days to discover the source of the rotten smell, and finally he revealed the roast duck’s hiding place himself, sickened by the aroma of his crimes.
I loved being a mother. But I was not motherly. I loved them deeply, fiercely, but I did not naturally nurture. It was a skill I learned from necessity, for I wanted to give my children everything I could. Beneath my children’s earnest gazes, I became tender.
“Let us make them new crowns,” I said to Charmion one day.
“They have hundreds already,” she said, laughing.
“But Selene suggested quartz—”
“Your daughter manipulates you to get her way.”
I shrugged. “Let her. I will give her what she wants.”
Antonius had instilled in me again an appreciation for luxury, which had waned in our years apart.
It was after a particularly lavish feast, at which our children wore their new crowns of quartz and copper, that I broached the subject of Octavia.
“Octavian’s sister will have heard of our new child by now,” I said lightly, my hand resting on my stomach.
“Yes,” he said, looking out towards the sea. The breeze was warm, laced with a fine rain that left my skin glistening.
“Will you go to her?”
Antonius turned to me. His gaze was imploring. “I will. But only to divorce her,” he said.
All the air left my lungs. “You mean to end your union?”
“You and I are husband and wife. Octavia was a political alliance, whereas our love is deeper than mere flesh: it is blood, it is bone, it is breath.”
I blinked away an image of Octavia lying beneath him. He must have seen the pain cross my face.
“How many times must I tell you I am committed to you? Only you?”
“I fear that when you leave, you will not come back,” I admitted.
“I will come for you, always.” He ran a thumb over my bottom lip. I shivered and he put an arm around me, pressing me to his chest. I inhaled his aroma, wine and something sweeter, like honey.
“Must you go back to your campaign?”
“The lands I conquer, I conquer for you.”
I snorted. “Not for me, Marcus, but for yourself and for Rome.”
He pushed me to arm’s length, looking shocked. “Have I not made it clear I do everything for you? Cyprus; it is yours. Cyrene; have that, too. Even Syria, where we reignited our love, is to be an Egyptian territory.”
Though he smiled, I could tell this was no jest. “You mean to grant me the spoils of war?”
“My victories are yours now, Cleopatra. Let us rule the world together.”
“What of Octavian and the triumvirate?”
“Lepidus has already proved himself a traitor, and Octavian, I will deal with. We are Isis and Dionysus, and should rule as such.”
He gently stroked my swollen belly. “We fight now so that our children can have peace. All of it will be theirs in the end.”
I leaned into his embrace, feeling safer than I had in years. When he left a few weeks later to continue his campaign against the Parthians, he took with him the might of the Egyptian army.
For to rule together, we had to fight together.
And die together, in the end.